


the truth was hidden between books and those who read them

by cooliopio



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Automail, Canon Compliant, Chronic Pain, Confession, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Edward Elric, POV Jean Havoc, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooliopio/pseuds/cooliopio
Summary: The team finds out that Ed has automail due to pain on a rainy day, and they desperately want an explanation. Unsure if he should tell the truth, he looks to mustang for guidance.-Ed let out a nervous grimace, “Well, I’ll tell you. Just meet at Mustang’s apartment tonight, alright? All of you.”Mustang shook his head, “No, the bar is much safer. Everyone meet at Madame Christmas’ at 2200. Alright?”A chorus of “Yessir!”’s filled the room.“Now,” Ed began, stripping his shirt, “Can someone please go get me some hot water bottles? I’m deteriorating over here.“
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116





	the truth was hidden between books and those who read them

**Author's Note:**

> Jean POV first half and Ed POV second half, but, like, only loosely. Narrator be omnipresent lmfao

When Colonel mustang announced that there was going to be a new addition to the team, Jean was not expecting this _kid_. This kid with a fire lit in his eyes that bore into his brain when they made eye contact for the first time, Jean lazily hanging onto a cigarette in his mouth. But, he had to say, the kid was a brilliant alchemist-- brilliant in general, to the point Hughes would come looking for a second opinion when he was faced with a particularly difficult cypher in the investigations department, and Hughes was pretty damn smart himself.

Something was up with him, he knew. Something about the kid was just _off_ , somehow, He weighed no more than 100 pounds by the looks of him, but he looked like he was being pushed into the ground by his shoulders whenever you caught sight of him when he didn’t think he was being watched. Jean felt—not pity, but something _ached_ for the boy, and how he may have ended up in the military at twelve.

The thing was: the kid was shrouded in mystery. No one but Mustang and Hawkeye knew what the hell he had business doing as a state alchemist at such a young age, but no one seemed willing to let it slip. Edward being the least likely. Any time anyone even _creeped_ onto the topic of his reason being, he outwardly appeared fine, but Jean could see the panic in his eyes when he thought he may be faced to explain himself, and thus quickly extracted himself from the situation.

It came to a head on a gray Tuesday afternoon shortly after Eds enlistment. Mustang was procrastinating on his paperwork as usual, Hawkeye reprimanding him for it, Jean smoking while doing his, Falman reading an Encyclopedia, and Fuery tinkering on a random broken radio. A completely normal, gray, Tuesday afternoon.

Just as rain started hitting the windows, droplets racing down the panes, Ed, uncharacteristically calm, entered the team’s office and made his way to face the Colonel. He looked tired and sluggish.

“Fullmetal here for report,” he grumbled.

“Wow, Fullmetal,” Mustang began to chide, “You’re pretty well behaved today. Finally decide to grow up? Oh, wait” he grinned, looking Ed up and down, “apparently not.”

Ed visibly grit his teeth and scowled. “Not today, Colonel Bastard. I’ll have your head on a stick if you keep it up.”

“Was that a threat?” Mustang questioned without malice, “I could have you court martialed,” he smirked.

“Damn right it was, Bastard. Not in the fucking mood today.” Ed spit, his tongue sharp. 

Jean blinked, looking up at the pair. Edward was easy to rile up and always had an insult ready, but he rarely swore so violently. He usually stuck to the ‘low level’ swears—probably out of some innate childhood fear of swearing.

Mustang hummed at Ed’s remark, looking him up and down once again, this time analytically—really _looking_ at him, evaluating his state. Mustang noted Ed’s slight lean to the right, favoring that leg. He stared at The leg, then at Ed, then he turned around and looked out the window noting the rain, and then swiveled back around to look at ed.

“The rain?” Mustang questioned.

Jean thought the kid might have some fear of thunderstorms, or something, to get him to where he was now. It made sense, he thought, _the chief is just a kid, after all._

“Your leg?” Mustang continued, bringing Jeans thoughts back to square one.

Ed gave a slight nod.

“Sit down,” Mustang ordered. “Just the leg?”

Ed shook his head, “the arm too.”

Mustang hummed sympathetically, “the report can wait. You can rest here until it eases up a little bit.”

Ed sighed in relief, and then immediately began stripping his pants off.

“Woah, Chief!” Jean shouted, confused and panicked, “maybe not that comfortable!”

Ed glared up at Jean, and with real animosity. His pants simply fell to the ground without a word in response, and Ed practically fell back onto the couch with a grunt before digging his thumbs into his thigh, massaging his… automail?

“Chief?”

“ _What,_ Havoc?” Ed growled between his teeth.

“You… have automail?”

Ed’s head whipped to the Colonel “You didn’t tell them before I joined?!”

Mustang held his hand us in defense “It wasn’t my place to tell.”

At that point, the rest of the team had begun paying attention to their youngest member and his metal limb, albeit more discreetly than Jean’s bulging eyes.

Ed scoffed, “Well, I thought that would’ve been in the precursory ‘hey, we’re bringing a twelve year old on, and also hey he also has automail so don’t try and spar with him unless you want a broken shin’ speech before I got here,” mock filling his tone.

Jean decided, _well, fuck it,_ and asked the question they were all wondering: “Hey, boss, how exactly did you, uh, end up with automail?”

Ed froze, eyes slowly turning to the colonel, asking him a question without saying anything at all.

Mustang shrugged, “You can tell them if you want to tell them. They are your team after all.”

Ed knew that these were people he could trust. He was aware of the Colonels plan to reform the government and take down Bradley’s oppressive _regime—_ not that they knew quite _how_ oppressive it really was at the time, and the fact that his subordinates were all hand-picked and aware of the cause as well. He sighed.

“Not here,” he shook his head, silently communicating to the colonel once again, “Mustang?”

Mustang sighed in annoyance, “whatever, Fullmetal.”

Ed let out a nervous grimace, “Well, I’ll tell you. Just meet at Mustang’s apartment tonight, alright? All of you,” his volume and confidence withering with every word he spoke, his last ones being nearly inaudible.

Mustang shook his head, realizing, “No, the bar is much safer. Everyone meet at Madame Christmas’ at 2200. Alright?”

A chorus of “Yessir!”’s filled the room.

“Now,” Ed began, stripping his shirt, “Can someone _please_ go get me some hot water bottles? I’m deteriorating over here.”

Jean jumped up from his seat, cigarette falling out of his mouth, “Two automail limbs?!” he shrieked, panicked.

“I’ll tell you later, asshole!” Ed yelled.

Jean left to go get the hot water bottles without another word. Breda silently stubbed the forgotten cigarette out.

-

Later, the team was packed in a booth with drinks in hand at the empty bar, curiously and anxiously waiting Ed’s explanation. The men of Mustangs team all had either whiskey or beer, while Ed was sipping water out of a glass with a straw— and chewing on said straw, eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought thought— nervously delaying his explanation. None of the men were willing to push him to tell his story, and so they patiently waited for him to begin.

Finally, after who knows how long, Ed sighed and combed a hand through the top of his hair.

He rolled his eyes before he spoke:

“This whole thing started when I was ridiculously young. So, I suppose you all get the tragic backstory.”

The silence was tense.

“My father was a brilliant alchemist. I hardly remember him. My _only_ memory of him is when he left us. It was early in the morning, and I was helping my younger brother to the bathroom. In the hallway stood my mother seeing my father off. He did not say goodbye to either Al, my brother, or me, nor did he smile. He simply turned and left. I wanted to deck that bastard. Still do.” Ed clenched his fist, blowing air forcefully out of his mouth trying to regulate his anger.

“Because of this, I believe it overworked my mother, trying to take care of two young boys barely a year apart in age, and made her immune system weaken,” to the trained eye, Ed’s eyes appeared glassy at the memory, yet they remained hard, “She caught the Flu during the 1904 outbreak. She died shortly after, wasting away every day, before she passed out and collapsed in front of us, and eventually died.”

Breda covered his face with one of his hands, massaging at his forehead as he was overcome with emotion. Jean lit another cigarette.

“Al and I were fucking _wrecked,_ man. Just… desperate. Our neighbors, the Rockbells, took care of me and Al in the daytime. But at night, we were completely alone in our giant house.” Ed took a moment, staring off into space.

“So, there we were, orphans, and grief stricken. We had an idea. A horrible, _horrible_ idea, now that we know the end result, but we studied for it anyways. Al and I trained with a skilled alchemy teacher for years until we could get everything ready and perfect,” Ed let out a wry laugh, “How naïve we were, last year, being eleven and ten and knowing how to do what we did. Al and I should have spent more time playing with Winry, but alchemic genius runs in the family, I guess.”

No one asked for the elaboration on who Winry was, allowing that detail to slip past as Ed continued his story.

“Al and I… we…” Ed buried his face in his hands as well, eyes peeking through his fingers, “we tried to bring our mom back,” a mocking guffaw escaped his mouth, “the ultimate taboo in alchemy, we tried it. Human Transmutation.”

A few soft _Fuck_ ’s and _Holy Shit’s_ were passed around the table, but Ed was unable to discern who said what.

“In alchemy,” Ed continued, “There is the law of equivalent exchange. We had it covered—or so we thought—Al and I. We meticulously sought out all the _ingredients_ of a person. Used our blood as a blueprint. There was a _slight_ miscalculation with our formula, though,” Ed understated, lifting his chin and looking at the table.

“Guys, what do you think is the price that needs to be paid to bring a soul back from the dead?” Ed met eyes with each member of his team, their eyes all wide—even Mustang and Hawkeye’s, as they hadn’t heard the full story before.

Ed leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “there isn’t one. Another human soul, perhaps, but it’s impossible, either way, human transmutation— it’ll just always end in a rebound. It’s impossible to bring someone back from the dead. Al and I just paid the price for our stupidity. Mustang,” Ed addressed, curious, “Do you know what the gate is? In alchemy? Has anything you ever studied mentioned it?”

Mustang looked undeniably confused and shook his head.

“Right,” Ed croaked, “So, uh, when you commit the taboo, you see the truth. You can’t really explain it without experiencing, but _please, never try to experience it._ ”

Jean had to admit, he was curious, and asked, “could you try and explain, though?”

Ed’s eyes met Jeans, cold and calculating, as he spoke his next words, “The human transmutation circle opens a gate. It is called the gate of truth. And a thousand shadowy hands drag you in, and they succeed, no matter how hard you try and resist. Once you’re in the gate, you’re deconstructed, torn apart alchemically, by the _molecule_ of your being, and are reassembled. As you are, well, transported, I guess, you see the truth. All of the world’s knowledge is crammed into your head— which is also the only way to learn how to do clap alchemy. It’s overwhelming, and you can do nothing but beg for it to stop. Then, just as soon as it started, you are ejected into the void to _meet_ the truth.”

This brough a lot of puzzled looks.

“The truth is… you. Sort of like god. But he’s you—he takes the shape of you, and he’s also literally you, except he’s… nothing. Completely white, see-through, and only made out by the shadows emanating from him. So, you’re there, in a completely white void with nothing but you, this truth guy, and your unique, stone-looking gate of truth behind you, carved out with the details of your own knowledge of alchemy. And then he taunts you, saying that the information that you’ve acquired isn’t free, and you must pay a price. For me, I watched my leg disappear from me and fill in the leg on _his_ body, I guess. It’s hard to explain. And then I was dragged back to the real world before I had a chance to process anything.”

Jean looked horrified. “Holy fuck.”

Ed let out an empty laugh, “holy fuck is right. So, I’m back in my basement, where we committed the taboo, bleeding _profusely_ from my missing leg, but all I could think about was Al, and if he was alright. But when I looked to him, only his clothes remained. I only lost my leg, seeing the truth, but Al… Al lost his whole body.”

Everyone at the table—sans Hawkeye and Mustang, this time-- was silent, but thinking the same thing: _this kid is twelve and all of his family is gone or dead._

It was almost as Ed could read their minds, “Al isn’t dead.”

This brought on more confused looks.

“I was devastated, not only had I lost my father and mother, but now I had lost the only thing I had left: my brother. My dad kept a collection of Vintage armor in the basement, the fucking weirdo, and I dragged myself, bleeding, over to one of the sets and drew a seal out of my own blood and sacrificing my arm to pay the price to attach Al’s soul to the armor. Al is alive, but he doesn’t have a body.”

“so is that why—” Breda started, only to be interrupted by Mustang.

“Yes, that’s why Ed is in the military. Being a state alchemist, he has privileges and resources he wouldn’t otherwise have. Ed, along with Al, is researching a way to bring Al’s body back to the real world.”

“So, boss,” Jean started, referring to Mustang, “You saw what they did?”

Mustang swallowed, “Yes. Both Hawkeye and I. We went to Resembool on word of a rumor of some brilliant alchemists in the country. But when we arrived at their supposed residence, their basement was flooded in blood, a huge and terrifying transmutation circle with remnants of their experiment. Whatever they had created was buried by Ms. Rockbell before we arrived. Hawkeye and I rushed to the Neighboring household, where this Ms. Rockbell lived, and there was where we found them. An eleven-year-old boy missing two of his limbs, and a towering suit of armor. I made the proposition to Fullmetal to join the military shortly after, much to the dismay of the older Ms. Rockbell in care of them.”

“That was granny,” Ed interrupted meekly, “She’s Winry’s grandmother. Winry’s an orphan, too. Her parents died in Ishval while administering medical care to the Ishvalans.”

The air was thick around them with this bomb of information.

Ed coughed awkwardly at the tension, “So, anyway, the Rockbells fitted me with automail and I made the recovery as fast as I could to get my ass out here. I was coughing up blood. Literally. Al’s with me, too, but I haven’t brought him around the office. For obvious reasons.”

The group nodded in understanding: _because he’s a giant empty suit of armor,_ they were all thinking, (except Hawkeye, who thought: _because he’s not in the military._ )

“So that’s why I have automail,” Ed nonchalantly concluded.

“Holy fuck, chief,” Jean sputtered, “that’s… that’s fuckin’… I don’t have words for that.”

Ed hummed in response.

“You were _eleven?”_ Fuery admonished.

“Yeah,” Ed confirmed plainly.

“Man,” Fuery laughed, “you really _are_ a genius!”

Ed riled up at this backhanded compliment, “And you didn’t think I was before?! I’m the youngest state alchemist in history, isn’t that _enough_?!” he roared.

Mustang watched Fuery and Fullmetal as the former tried to backtrack, but Fullmetal chasing him with every step, until he remembered the gravity of Ed’s confession.

“Men,” Mustang boomed.

“Sir!” the table sat to attention sloppily.

“You mustn’t speak a word about this to anyone. This absolutely cannot make it up, or down, for that matter, the chain of command. Attempting human transmutation is punishable by death.”

The rest of the men at the table sat with the gravity of the death penalty for a moment, and all nodded.

“That is an order,” Mustang tacked on, “just to make sure you won’t blab,” he smiled.

“Now,” Hawkeye spoke up for the first time that evening, “does anyone want another drink?” she asked, met with a chorus of cheers and affirmations.

Ed smiled, relieved, at his team, knowing that he made the right decision in confiding to his team. He looked up to meet Jeans eyes, and Jean conveyed a look that screamed ‘ _we’ll do anything to help get your brother’s body back,_ ’ and Ed reciprocated with a wide, genuine smile, more determined than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! you can find me on tumblr @unfairlawyer!
> 
> edit 1/7: tweaked some things to make ed less ooc??? i read it back and was like “wtf why did i use that word” and also fix some spelling errors. I also corrected it to where mustang and riza did _not_ see the thing the boys transmuted, as it had been buried by pinako at that point in canon.


End file.
